"I Don't Know How to Say It Yet."

My mom tells me that when I was younger and would get upset trying to communicate something to them, I would often heave a dramatic sigh and say, "I can't know the words." Ella says something similar to this now when she's mid melt-down (ten years from now, she's gonna love me for posting this picture). Lately, she'll shake her head and say, "I don't know how to say it yet, momma." Sadly, it occurred to me that this is one of those rare moments when I often stop and actually try to empathize with my daughter. The truth is that sometimes I forget she's only two. She started talking early- and often. (Very often). That, combined with her almost off-the-charts height makes her look older to me, so I am guilty of treating her, and therefore expecting her to act, like she's four. It probably doesn't sound like a big difference, but the developmental milestones between ages two and four are huge, and those are some pretty unrealistic expectations to place on a kid. How frustrating it must be to want to be able to say something and not know how to get it out.

As parents, we know that our children are constantly evolving and learning. We have seen from our own experience and the experience of others that what they can't do today, they will be eventually be able to do in the coming days, weeks, and months. So, under normal circumstances, we don't sweat it. But children don't see the big picture (clearly, given the plethora of tantrums). Ella isn't yet aware of her own steady trajectory yet. She only understands the moment she's in, and right at this moment, she has this thought inside her noggin that is too much for her vocabulary to keep up with. Maybe it's that she wants to show me how to play a game she learned at preschool. Or that she's afraid of something in her room at night that she can't articulate. Whatever the case, in that particular moment, I wonder if it's possible she believes she'll never possess the ability to say what she wants to say. Does she think that this is as good as it's gonna get?

It occurred to me that there are those moments when I act exactly like my two year old (you know, minus the crapping in my pants). I become frustrated and often disenchanted when I have ideas, thoughts, and artistic endeavors that I know are waiting to take shape, but that I don't yet have the means with which to articulate. What if I could see myself the way I see Ella, particularly when she's red in the face and upset that she doesn't have the words. No parent in their right mind looks at their child in this moment and belittles them by saying, "why don't you learn to talk correctly?" We understand this is just another minor obstacle to be hurdled as they grow into their own person. And so we coax it out of them. We tell them it's okay- to give it time. Maybe, then, we should view ourselves in the same light- as artists, wives, mothers. Most of us are positively certain we haven't reached our full potential (and tend to believe, perhaps, that it can't ever be reached). Even given this, there's often the tendency to interpret our momentary setbacks and missed opportunities as the closing chapter, when in reality, we're only half-way through the book.

Just something I've been thinking about lately...

"Is That Your final Answer?"

I used to love watching "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire." Who doesn't love Regis Philbin? And who doesn't love getting large sums of money? Winning combo.

I think that the entire game show was worth watching not because people cared who wanted to be a millionaire but because they actually wanted to know: "is that your final answer?" The lights dimmed. A thin layer of perspiration appeared on the participants forehead. And I always pictured somebody sitting in the audience with their bongos, awaiting their cue to start pounding away for dramatic effect. In some cases, you could clearly see the confidence in the person's eyes. Other times, there was hesitation, wavering. More sweat. Why don't they just use their lifeline?!?! And then you suddenly realize you're forgetting to breathe, too.

But what if Regis hadn't bothered to throw out the "is that your final answer?" bit? Probably wouldn't have been nearly as enticing to watch.

"The answer is C, ______."

"Okie doke. Next question."

Lame.


Something about the finality of things really shakes people up. Because if you believe that something can or can't be undone, this can result in acute paralysis. (Particularly for someone like myself who finds it hard to decide which coffee creamer she wants in her coffee on any given day). Decision making is not my strong point, it's true. I've wrestled with everything from choosing a major in college (understandable) to which shade of gray I wanted to paint a room (and for the record- there isn't just one kind of gray. There are purple grays, green grays, blue grays...and it DOES SO matter). *ahem* Really and truly, one of the worst questions you can ask me is, "are you SURE???"

Marketers know this and have zeroed in on it. We live in a culture that inundates us with choice. I remember it took me hours to register at Babies R Us when I was pregnant with Ella. I spent two hours alone in the bottle/nipple/breast pump aisle. Who knew that there were so many types of nipples?? Not this girl. If you don't have kids or care to look at bottle-feeding accessories, then make a mental note of how many different kinds of toilet paper there are the next time you're out grocery shopping: angel soft, quilted, with aloe, extra thick, scented, select-a-size, tube-free...the list goes on. All of this fuss over something you're ultimately going to wipe your ass with. Seriously.

If it takes me 15 agonizing minutes to decide whether I want Charmin, Quilted Northern, or the toilet paper with the cute teddy bear on it, you can only imagine the weight of topics like, "do we want a third?" or, "do I want to go back to school?"

My husband is a great decision-maker: "Let's have Chinese for dinner."" I'm going to buy that new set of speakers." "I'm going to be a vegetarian for a while." Even, "I feel like our family is complete." He says it and there's usually no looking back.

Me? Sometimes, I feel like I wait for the confirmation to come that I'm making the right decision. I look for the writing on the wall, wait for the impact of the 2 x 4 upside my head. But I'm coming to realize that those moments are usually few and far between, and those that experience them are probably more of the exception rather than the rule. I have to come to terms with the fact that sometimes- maybe lots of times- I just won't be 100% sure. I may have a hunch. If I'm really lucky, I may even be 90% sure, but that's all I'm getting.

But I guess if we were always 100% sure of everything, there'd be no need for faith...

New Years and Little White Flags

It's January 3rd and everyone is probably off to a great start. We've cleaned out our closets, purged our pantries, stocked our shelves with nutritious foods, dug out our gym membership cards and hit the ground running (some of us, quite literally). Maybe we've decided that this year is the year we're finally going to lose the weight, stick to a routine, take that trip, start the new business we've been talking about for years, quit making excuses...the list goes on and on.

Like everyone else, I sat down last week and wrote out some commitments (I refuse to call them "resolutions") for 2012. And as I skimmed them over, I began to notice a theme. Almost all of them centered around the idea of "following through." Some pertained to art projects, others to my social calendar (such as it is with two small kids), or implementing new ideas for music lessons. Some of it even came down to finishing remaining chapters of a few books. And as I took stock of the list, I realized that I have become the queen of unfinished projects, bouncing from one thing to the next. On rare occasions, I stick it out and see something through to completion (thankfully, my degree in music education is one such example). When we moved into our new house this past summer, I sacrificed sleep in the name of getting boxes unpacked and put away. I just wouldn't let myself rest until our kitchen looked like a kitchen. (But I suspect that had more to do with me being anal than anything else). On the flip side, I'm notorious for getting half way into a painting or a new book and not finishing it or fleshing out a new idea for another blog or song, only to let it it sit around until it goes stale.

There are several reasons why I think I do this. I suspect some of it is possibly a mild form of ADD. (If you really want to see me in full ADD mode, just send me to a craft store. One time, I almost hyperventilated when I brought out my Pinterest app in the middle of Hobby Lobby). Occasionally, I've fallen in love with the idea of something and then when I start it and realize it's not at all what I thought it would be, I find that to be reason enough to drop it like it's hot.

But the God-honest truth is that most of it is fear-based. There are two kinds of fear, though. There's usually an initial fear about logistics. How am I going to pull it off? How will I find the resources? This kind of apprehension, in my opinion, is both necessary and good. It usually propels us forward to find solutions. But many times, the "how's" can quickly evolve into the "what if's." What if I invest everything I have into _______, and it sucks/no one likes it/it's not the best of the best of the best? This kind of fear is crippling because we'll almost always find more reasons to stay right where we are than where we actually want to be. And it's tricky because it can often disguise itself as apathy. All of the sudden, we start dismissing our "crazy" ideas. We say we don't care. We tell people we lost interest. But what we don't want anyone to know is that we've had little white flags tucked away somewhere within arms reach. We want to give ourselves an easy out, just in case.

(Oh, and just for the record, when I say "we," I basically mean "I").

So there, I've just outed myself once again. For the better part of the last five years, I've been working to stop giving myself easy outs, or "just in cases." I never went anywhere without an emergency plan, and then a backup emergency plan in case that emergency plan fell through. And at the end of 2011, do you know what I had?


Two unused emergency plans.


Because I didn't take any risks big enough to even come close to needing them. And because I want to hold more in my hands at the end of this year, here are a few of the things that are on my list of commitments...

--to read 12 books, start to finish. (Doesn't seem like a lot for some, but trust me, I'm not an avid reader so that will be an accomplishment). :)

--to collaborate on and complete a Christmas album (Jake and I have been talking about doing this for at least 3 years now).

--to actively flesh out ideas for a new photography blog/business (as I can afford to get more gear).

--to write more, submit more articles, and lock down more freelance work. (I want to get published some day. There, I said it).

--to begin mentoring/teaching piano lessons to children in the elementary school here in our neighborhood.


I write these not because I'm seeking affirmation or a pat on the back, but because I know that accountability is everything when it comes to taking risks. If we don't tell people what we're doing or what we're about, then we can tell ourselves that it doesn't matter if we haven't followed through with any of it. But maybe it actually does matter. Maybe, in fact, something that fails (even fails miserably) is still worth more than something that hasn't even come to fruition.

So maybe, this year, it's time we put away all of our little white flags for good.

Stealing Christmas

I have to admit, I thought that I was above being scammed. I hated to hear stories of the elderly or disabled having money taken right out of their pockets but even so, I usually assumed it was a due to an unfortunate combination of "assholery" (it's my new word) on the part of the scammer and naivete on the part of the victim.

A Macbook Pro was supposed to arrive at our house yesterday at 1 pm. But it didn't. It never will, actually. And only after we did more extensive research did we realize- too little, too late- that we had been scammed. Awesome. All of the credentials had checked out. We had gone to all the various (and completely legitimate) sites and google-searched names. Nothing looked remotely suspicious. Jake wired the money through western union to a third party parcel service that told us they would then send us the laptop once they received the money. When the confirmation email didn't come yesterday morning, Jake got a bad feeling- a feeling he said he had the day before as well, but had just chalked up to a case of "buyer's remorse." Something just wasn't adding up right, but we both wanted to believe that this person was good on their word. {Hey! *looks up* someone wrote the word "gullible" in the sky!. . .} (sigh)

First, there's that horrible, sinking feeling when you realize someone made a fool out of you. Then a split second after that, a burning desire to get even, followed at last by the realization that doing so would only be stooping to their level. Of course, we reported it, but have zero expectations that this person will be caught. What's done is done. So, it seemed like a good alternative to instead, kick ourselves over and over again. Thankfully, we were able to absorb the loss, but there were other people that had been scammed by this person. Would any of them have to tell their kids that there would be no Christmas presents this year because they lost their money to some asshole without a conscience? I struggled with whether or not to accept that the unfortunate message this season is one that claims people simply can't be trusted, or that people aren't good. Who wants to walk around with that chip on their shoulder during Christmas?

This, unfortunately, has been just another thing to add to a list of some other rather disappointing events this week. No- Jake and I were not enrolled in the jelly of the month club, but let's just say that there were certain things that I had built up in my mind, counted too much on, maybe hoped a little too hard for. (Who, me?!?) Of course, I'm not saying that hope doesn't have a place and purpose in our every day lives because it absolutely does. But I often find it's a tough balancing act for me to maintain a sense of hope without a posture of entitlement. I want to think that the things I hope for should come about-and particularly, the way that I want them to- because of x, y, and z.

But life just doesn't work that way. Here I am, 29 years old, and apparently still scamming myself into believing that life should go the way I want it to based on a cause-effect equation. Sure, some things do work out that way. But many things don't. Technically, Jake and I should have gotten our laptop because we gave that person our money, but we didn't.

By the end of this week, the question gradually evolved from "why did this happen?" to "why did it affect me like this?" Of course, the first question was much easier to answer because I could direct my frustration to other people and other circumstances. It was their problem, not mine. But the second question was much more difficult to answer because it had everything to do with me and the simple fact that I've been putting too much of my hope in the wrong kinds of things- into life events, things, money, even into my relationships. In the end, not one of those things can withstand the pressure that I put onto them to be my happiness, joy, or quick-fix. So if, at the end of a week filled with certain disappointments, I'm still sulking and seething over what should have been, well then, I've lost more than just money. I've lost my sense of joy and contentment. And that was something that I handed over willingly- like I believed I didn't have a choice.

But I did.

So maybe this is another lesson in the "nothing in life is guaranteed" category. I often say this like I truly believe it, but too many times, I find myself in situations that causes me to act the complete opposite. So today, as I type on my "old" laptop, I'm grateful that the things in my life that have fallen through were just things. We have our health, we have each other, and we have infinitely more than we deserve to have- and for that, I'm incredibly grateful.

"Kristin, Meet Change."

"Action and reaction, ebb and flow, trial and error, change - this is the rhythm of living. Out of our over-confidence, fear; out of our fear, clearer vision, fresh hope. And out of hope, progress." (Bruce Barton)

Some people love change. I'm not one of them. Oh, I like the idea of change. Won't it be great for Ella to have a brother or sister? Wouldn't it be nice to move back to the city? What if I were to start up my own business from scratch or go back to school- how awesome would that be? The truth is- all of those things are awesome. But my downfall is that I tend to idealize the end result without considering all the steps that have to happen in between. For example, when we started trying for #2, it didn't really occur to me that my second pregnancy would be the emotional roller-coaster that it was, nor that I would be sick for a good two-thirds of it. I just pictured two little cherubs sitting on the floor together, giggling and eating ice cream cones. (For the record, both kids have yet to actually sit on the floor together eating ice cream cones and giggling, but I'll sure as hell take a picture of it for posterity's sake if it happens).

And then there was our plan to move back into the city. That's been about as fun as, well, moving with two small kids is (in other words, I have gray hairs now). I remembered back to when we moved right after we got married- how I sat for hours on our kitchen floor, sipping coffee, gingerly flipping through cookbooks and enjoying the entire process of unpacking my kitchen, taking my time deciding where each knick-knack went. For some bizarre, illogical reason, I pictured myself doing the same thing again this time, then proceeded to scare Jake (and even myself) by my tazmanian devil-like antics as I hurriedly shoved pots, pans and cookie sheets into any available cabinet during naptime one day (still haven't found my butter-dish, but that's another story). Again, I pictured our new house and my mind went in a thousand directions simultaneously about how I wanted to decorate each room. I pinned the crap out of my boards on Pinterest. I pictured Jake and I perusing stores for various statement pieces, artwork, etc. I decided we would go antique-ing and try to have all original, one-of-a-kind pieces. Then I envisioned our backyard and the future garden we would plant so that when Ella and Milo got done giggling and eating their ice cream cones on the floor, they could mosey on outside and pick their own tomatoes and peppers...

What's that, you say? Moving costs money? Oh, right.

What's that? My daughter doesn't even like vegetables? {sigh}


So I sometimes get excited about the thought of change. But I have to admit that these days, that excitement is relegated mostly to getting my hair highlighted or the season's latest trends. In all honesty, there's been quite a bit of change (aside from the aforementioned ones). Here's the quick run-down: I gave birth in February and have since been attempting the transition from one to two kids. Haven't mastered it- probably never will. Jake's responsibilities at his work increased ten-fold soon after Milo was born, adding additional stress on his end. Then, our best friends moved 6 hours away. A month later, we moved out of the house that we were newlyweds/new parents in. My parents also moved back into town after being away for three years. And last, but certainly not least, the faith community we've been a part of that had for so long been a place of stability started transitioning and undergoing some pretty major changes. I had been plugging along, keeping myself busy, noticing that life was actually quite different, but not really accepting it, until one day out of the blue (or perhaps, not so out of the blue) I found myself driving home from a meeting with our faith community, completely broken. All of those changes had finally caught up to me, forcing me to finally acknowledge them. As the tears fell, all I could sputter and sob to Jake was that nothing felt familiar anymore. I felt alone. I was supposed to feel happy, because overall, most of the changes were good. Instead, I felt bewildered. "Life" just looked so different from how I had pictured it in my head not even a year ago.

And that's probably the bigger issue: I get an idea about how something should be, and I think it should be that way mostly because it maintains my sense of comfort. So many times, I pray and ask God to give me the change I want- on my terms- because, silly girl that I am, I think I should be able to call the shots. Then, when change comes knocking on my door, bringing it's two BFF's "awkwardness" and "uncertainty," I act surprised, as if that wasn't part of the game plan.

So yeah, there's been a lot of awkwardness in the last few months. There's been inconvenience. There have been moments when I've gotten my panties in a wad and declared, "I didn't sign up for this!" But the reality is that I can let the change make me or break me, but one thing is certain- it's always around the corner. I may not always welcome it with open arms, but in these last few weeks, I think I've finally began to understand that underneath the awkwardness, uncertainty and discomfort, all changes are capable of narrating a beautiful story- even a redemptive one, if I let them.

So here's to continuing on with the narrative with all of it's moments- the good, the awkward and hopefully, the poignant.

"Enough"

I'm a list-maker. I write lists of lists. A few times, I've even written down on my "to-do" list to remember to make a list of the things I need to list for the store. Yeah. Exactly. Hi, my name is Kristin and I'm anal.

Moving on though- I love being able to check off boxes as I go. There's a pretty nifty but simple app I use on my iPhone called TeuxDeux- LOVE it. (Another confession: I like to put things on my list that I've already done, just so I can have the gratification of crossing it off as soon as I jot it down. Some might call that cheating. I call it incentive).

But here's the problem with living by the list: I became so quick to label my day "good" or "bad" depending on how much of my to-do list got accomplished. I used to have it in my head that every. single. thing. needed to be crossed off of that list and if not, I bought into the notion that I had somehow failed. After Ella was born, I quickly realized I needed to re-visit that idea, otherwise I was looking at many days of "fails" by my ultra-unrealistic standards. Then, Milo was born and I re-defined my expectations yet again. Oh, I still write things down, but it's different now. Instead of lists, it's more, "don't forget the milk." Or, "you walked into this room to get your coffee" or "don't forget to shave."

So I've been operating under a new mantra lately and that is, "Let today be enough." I've even started writing it down on the top of all of my lists because I need to read it and be reminded that today, this precise moment, truly is enough. If it's not, then I'm simply trying to do too much. It doesn't make me happy to admit this, but my greed often extends further beyond just my resources. It encompasses my expectations of myself- and others- always wanting more time, more opportunities, more efficiency. But when I lay my exhausted head down on my pillow each night, I realize that my greedy standards haven't served any greater purpose than to wear me out or make me feel guilty because I'm not, in fact, super-mom/super-wife. And it's quite likely that I've missed out on more important things because I've had such tunnel-vision.

If I'm guided by the premise that I've always been given enough- because I truly have, in every imaginable circumstance- then I can trust that "today is enough" and that tomorrow will be enough as well. I will somehow be given the grace, the time, the patience {exhausted sigh accompanying that one}, the breathing space, the cuddles, the sense of humor {Lord PLEASE}, the caffeine....and on and on- to arrive at the end of the day thankful, instead of dissatisfied.

The "Monkey Incident" (and a few other thoughts)

There was a crisis in our house this evening. In fact, I'm still reeling from it.

Ella left her "mussy" at church. This would be the Curious George monkey that her great grandmother gave her 2 Christmases ago when she was but a nugget in my belly. Jake and Ella had gone to church tonight while I stayed home to put my feet up and well, continue to be very pregnant. When they got home, he walked in and said to me, "I think we left the m-o-n-k-e-y in the nursery at church."

*Dun-dun DUNNNN.* {What?!? You left what??}

I think I stared at him as if he had just told me that there was a world-wide shortage of dark chocolate. I'm sure he thought I was overreacting, and for a minute or two, I considered the fact that I probably was overreacting. Sure, she loved her "mussy" and yes, she slept with him every night and ate breakfast with him and took him for car rides and...uh-oh. This was not good. Not good at all. Still, I thought that maybe she would be okay to snuggle with one of her many other stuffed animals. Maybe she wouldn't really notice.

I had no idea how wrong I was.

After a particularly draining and frustrating day filled with motrin, molars and meltdowns, it was apparent that our little bug was perhaps in even more desperate need of her friend than most other nights. I knew she would be asking for him when we put her down- every night it's the same routine. One of us picks her up to carry her to bed and she immediately askes for, "beee??" (binky) and then, "Mussy??" Thanks to the ever-potent hormones coursing through my body, I could already feel myself beginning to choke up thinking about having to tell her that she couldn't have her monkey tonight, so I asked Jake to put her to bed and figure out how to break the news to her.

And then the shrieking started- the most sorrowful wail I've heard come out of my girl in a long time (she never even cried like this when she was sick or got shots). I went in to console her (bad, bad mistake) and, after seeing her big hazel eyes spilling over with crocodile tears as she begged me over and over for her monkey, we both emerged from her room with tear-stained faces. I carried her out to the living room where Jake was happily watching the game and squeaked out in a shaky voice, "we NEED the mussy...we REALLY need the mussy." (For the record, I am aware that I'm a wuss. I could have let her cry it out. But in my overly pregnant and emotionally fragile state, it just wasn't happening tonight).

So Jake made arrangements with Uncle Doug to go back to the church and hunt down her beloved friend. While he was gone, I positioned her atop my belly and rocked her while she continued to moan softly. And suddenly, I thought about this monkey- this toy- that she was so torn up about. I thought about the four and a half minutes or so that I let her wail for him in her room before I caved and went in to scoop her up. I considered the seemingly fragile security of my 19 month old daughter and how I was willing to do just about anything to restore it when it was threatened. I thought about how it hurt my heart to hear her moan and cry and how- 9 1/2 months pregnant or not- it physically pained me to hear her so upset. But this was over a toy- a very loved and cherished toy, no doubt, but still a play-thing. As I rocked her, I re-played the scene in my mind of coming in to tell her that she wouldn't be getting her "mussy" tonight (before I all but begged Jake to go get him) and seeing the devastation on her face.

And I wondered what that would have been like if she had been crying and begging for food...because she was hungry and because I didn't have enough to give her to eat. And I imagined- for one horrifying second- what it would have felt like to look at her face and tell her that she would have to go hungry tonight. How I would have to hold her and listen to her moan because her tummy was empty and she couldn't sleep. And suddenly, I wasn't crying over the missing monkey ordeal anymore, or because my back aches or even because my hormones have a death grip on me (well, okay, maybe that last one). I forget- on a daily basis- that I have it so incredibly good, and it feels wrong sometimes because so many others don't. There are mommies and daddies all over the world who have to hear their children cry themselves to sleep every night because they didn't get any food and that thought is devastating to me.

I will admit, I was never as moved by this kind of reality as I am now that I'm a parent. And I'm not even sure where this is going, other than that I had to get it out, first and foremost. If for no other reason, "the monkey incident" (which it will be called from here on out) stirred something in me that was more than just about pacifying my daughter. It's something that I'm sure will be weighing heavily on my heart as I go to bed tonight and in the days and weeks to come. Our babies can reveal so much to us about ourselves- certainly the good and the beautiful, but even more so the hard truths, the ugliness, the weak spots...those things that we'd rather pretend aren't there. If I've learned anything so far about being a momma, it's that it's a constant collision of the things I think I am and the things I really am.

It hurts like hell, but it's best thing that's ever happened to me.

Extraordinary Things

There's a load of dishes to unload from the dishwasher, and a Fisher-Price toy bomb has exploded all over the living room floor. The beds haven't been made and I may not get a shower today. Forget working out. Instead, I am snuggled on the couch with my daughter, flipping the channels between Sesame Street and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. I sip my coffee and skim over the colorfully loud Black Friday ads and before I know it, I've started to convince myself that we actually do, in fact, need a 40-inch LCD TV. Then my eye catches an adorable Betsey Johnson charm bracelet that they're also practically giving away. I think to myself that maybe I "need" some more jewelry too. Before I realize what's happening, I've created a bulleted, detailed mental list of things that I'm sure I've said I wanted at some point in the past. Maybe it was sub-conscious, even. But I'm sure I want(ed) these things. And at $____ a pop, it would be a crime NOT to buy them.

The truth is, I don't really remember what I got last year for Christmas, with the exception of maybe one or two things. I don't even remember what I bought everyone else on my list- though I can be sure it was things like non-descript sweaters, bedroom slippers, jewelry, random stocking stuffers- all marked down to a ridiculously low price and all for the sake of putting a tiny check mark by a name. I do, however, remember the picture I painted for Jake last year to give him for Christmas as well as the poem I wrote and gave to him the very first "married" Christmas we celebrated. I remember car trips from the Detroit airport to my parents' house- my home away from home- laughing at crazy Mad-lib stories and playing games of peek-a-boo with Ella. I can almost always conjure up the smell of cinnamon rolls and my mom's famous egg and sausage bake that she makes every Christmas morning. I remember a fabulous bottle of wine that Jake and I shared after we barely made it home one snowy Friday evening last December when we got our first official snow of the year and the "ugly sweater party" we threw last year.

Yet, even with those memories, I seem to be a walking sucker for the over-sensationalism of the Christmas season (and you can bet that commissioned sales-people can smell me approaching from miles away). Finding obscure justifications for needless expenditures is an art form I strive to perfect. I am often guilty of over-indulging and I can almost guarantee that I will spend more than I should this year. My futile strive for perfectionism always seems to peak during the Christmas season. I envision myself making Christmas cookies and red-velvet mocha truffles that would grace even Martha Stewart's table. And darn-it, I want my Christmas gifts to be wrapped in color-coordinated wrapping paper. (True story). Every year, I face the "want-it-alls," as if my holiday season would be less memorable if I don't find the perfect Christmas Eve outfit for Ella or I end up having to mix my Christmas cookies in plain mixing bowls, as opposed to the dainty winter ones I've been eyeing at Sur Le Table. I catch myself chasing down picture-perfect memories to paste into a mental scrapbook that is nothing if less than perfect (and accurate). And the expenses for trying to create such a book are far more than just monetary.

But this morning, I am hit with a simple reality and it is this: I am an ordinary girl whose life is filled with the extraordinary. And it isn't because I throw on a pair of designer jeans (by the way, never make the mistake of buying said designer maternity jeans in your first trimester. It will only piss you off when you've gained too much weight to be able to wear them in your third. I'm pretty sure the word for this is "karma"). But seriously, there is nothing about my life that is "ho-hum" and it has nothing to do with stuff. (This is the exact conclusion that retailers during this time of year don't want any of us arriving at). The truth is, I wake up in mismatched pajamas in a bed that hasn't been stripped or washed in weeks and I don't even know the thread count of our sheets but I do know that I wake up next to the man who let me have his heart five years ago- free of charge. In return, I have experienced love that is always changing, always growing and never settling to leave me the same as I was yesterday.

Extraordinary.

I am overwhelmed with laundry because I'm fortunate enough to be able to buy all the clothes that we need- and even more that we just simply want. Same with cooking and grocery shopping and cleaning out the fridge.

Extraordinary. (And undeserved).

I complain that we are very quickly running out of space in our tiny 1100 square foot home, but it's cozy and warm and filled with sweet nostalgia: a slow dance after a proposal that took place in what would become our bedroom, the first time I made breakfast for Jake when I burned all of the Belgian waffles, the late-night take-out and movies and bottles of wine, family get-togethers and birthday celebrations. Walking the hall at 2 a.m. on countless nights, shushing a tiny, peanut Ella and getting ready to do it again with my son in just two short months. When we move into a bigger house, I will cry for all of the precious memories that will be boxed up along with the dishes and books and knick-knacks.

Extraordinary.

I am inundated with cuddles and sloppy wet kisses from my daughter. Just because. She makes my world brighter and richer and full of possibility.

Extraordinary.

I struggle against an anxiety that threatens to consume my time, energy and thoughts- but it's a battle I'm learning never belonged to me in the first place. I'm learning, perhaps for the first time in my life, to loosen my white-knuckled grip on the handle-bars and let go. And when I do, someone is always there to catch me. Lots of "someones," in fact.

Extraordinary.

I'm grateful for the beautiful, poignant tapestry that is woven out of all of these extraordinaries in my life. May it always be more than enough to keep me humble. More than enough to propel me forward. And more than enough enough so that I can't keep it only for myself.